


Forgive Me, Father

by thekeyholder



Series: Lead Me Not Into Temptation [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Priests, Bisexual Jim Gordon, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Deal with a Devil, Dreams, Good and Evil, M/M, Oswald is King of Hell, Religious Conflict, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 02:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16441070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder
Summary: Father James Gordon lives a quiet life until the King of Hell comes to confession.





	Forgive Me, Father

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! This is the story I've been working on for almost 2 months now - well, I only have time on my commute (apologies to that one dude who was reading a religious text while I just started working on the smut scene xD). Anyway, this idea has been in my mind for a year and a half, even longer. It was supposed to be a pwp, but of course it's never that easy, so I had to throw in some other stuff. I based Oswald on Romanian folklore about Satan, which really emphasised his thirst for knowledge.
> 
> Written for Gobblepot Halloween 2018 fest.
> 
> Please note that I'm not religious, so I probably got some things wrong. Hope you enjoy!

Father James Gordon had just finished his lunch. A glance at his watch told him that if he didn’t hurry, he was going to be late, so he didn’t have time to do the dishes. He locked the door to his small house, then hurried to the neighbouring church. In his office, he checked if his collar was straight, then entered the church where two old ladies were praying in the pews. Father James nodded at them with a smile before lowering himself to one knee in front of the altar, sending a quick prayer and making the sign of the cross. After a few moments, he entered the confessional.

 

The two ladies were loyal ‘customers’, and Father James knew them well. They were devout and came to confess every week. Most of the time, it was just them, and after Father James would absolve the ladies of their sins, he would often sneak in a book with himself and read in the confessional in order to make time pass faster. There wasn’t much going on in his small parish.

 

This time, too, he was done in about ten-fifteen minutes, and Father James sighed with relief. Usually, it only became crowded before major holidays when people suddenly remembered that it would be decent to go to church and the pews were suddenly populated with ‘pious’ mothers dragging their overactive children and grumpy husbands with themselves to church, so that everyone could see what good Christians they were. Father James didn't judge, though. He hadn’t always been a believer either, not in the real sense.

 

The confessions these kind of people did were laughable, even ridiculous. Father James often had to suppress a smile at their affected tone and innocence. Somehow they would manage to turn their sins into virtues, so that in the end he'd just tell them the default penitence: five  _ Our Fathers _ and five  _ Hail Marys _ . They would forget it the moment they left anyway.

 

However, there was another category of confessors, whom Father James found utterly fascinating. These were the people who were not part of the congregation, but needed someone to tell about their sins, to get rid of their burden. Father James knew that some of them came from far away, the promise of full anonymity giving them enough courage to share secrets that were decades old in some cases.

 

No wonder, then, that Father James looked up from his book when he heard the sound of steps echoing in the old church, the promise of something exciting in his otherwise banal day. The click of the shoes paused in front of the confessional booth, as if the person was hesitating, but then they opened the door. A shiver ran down Father James’s spine, and he sat up, setting his book aside.

 

There was a knock and he opened the partition.

 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

 

The voice was soft and suave and sensual _ ,  _ in complete contrast to the words it carried.

 

Father James broke out in goosebumps. “You are welcome here and in front of God.”

 

“I’m afraid I haven’t done this in…  _ ages _ ,” the whisper came, and even though he should have focused on something else, Father James imagined a young man kneeling on the other side of the partition, perhaps a bit shy and coy.

 

“That is alright, I can guide you. Just tell me your sins. We’ll then find the best way for you to repent for them.”

 

The person remained quiet, so Father James tried to look through the partition, hoping his words would be soothing. “You do not have to be afraid, God is forgiving.”

 

A small laugh seemed to have escaped the other person, and Father James frowned.

 

“Oh, I am not sure about that.”

 

A non-believer. “You should try, though. I know it's difficult… but it helps when you share something like that. It will give you some relief.”

 

“We'd be sitting here for a long time, Father.”

 

“You don’t have to list them all. Although the ceremony requires that you confess every sin since your previous confession, I don’t think that’s the best approach for everyone.”

 

“So you're willing to bend the rules?” the voice asked, clearly amused.

 

Father James sighed. “As long as you repent for your sins, I don't think it matters whether you confess one or a hundred to me. This is a formality after all.”

 

“Hm, I always liked people who took what they wanted, even from faith. You know, you could do without it.”

 

Father James froze. Who was this man, what did he mean? “Why would I?”

 

“Oh come on, James, we both know faith is like a crutch for you. Ever since your father died, you've used it like a shield between you and the world.”

 

“What? Who are you?”

 

“Listen to me, James. I understand the pain of losing a father, believe me, I do. But it would be such a shame to to let that fire in you die.”

 

Father James felt as if he were suffocating in the small space, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. “Who are you? How do you know these things?”

 

“You can have them too, Jim. You can have all the knowledge. Think about it.”

 

All the priest could see were thin lips forming a smile before his mysterious confessor disappeared from the parting. By the time the priest opened the door, the stranger had vanished, only the candles flickering in the church. Father James stood there lost, shivering. He was suddenly very cold.

* * *

 

Father James had finished his duties in the church early that day, and went straight home. He paced in his small apartment, between the kitchen and his bedroom.

 

Who was that man? How dare he come to the church and say such things to Father James? Such foul things. How did he know about his father?

 

Jim looked at the picture on his nightstand, of his family holiday to the sea. His parents were sitting in beach chairs, smiling at the camera, while he and his brother were building a sand castle. Jim still remembered that not long after the photograph was taken, Roger got upset over something and stomped on the castle, making it crumble.

 

Except for him, everyone in the picture was dead. Or well, presumed dead. His father had a car accident when Jim was only twelve. Roger had wandered through life aimlessly, drugs and alcohol his constant companions. He disappeared about five years prior, last seen with his usual gang of junkies. Jim's poor mother had never really recovered from the death of her husband, and Roger's endless issues shortened her life even more. Her heart had given up almost two years ago. At least Jim was there by her side and managed to say goodbye.

 

Father James lied down on his bed, letting a bitter tear fall from his eye. He'd cried enough when he was younger, there wasn't much point to it now. It didn't lead anywhere. Instead he started praying. 

 

But after a moment, his eyes snapped open as the stranger's words pierced his mind. 

 

_ Faith is like a crutch for you. _

 

Every time he faced a difficulty, he'd fall onto prayer. It was easier than just facing them right away. Faith started to become his coping mechanism ever since he lost his father. Lost was a too kind word. Wrung from him without a warning, torn in front of his eyes, left with a hole in his chest that could never be filled.

 

It was a cold winter evening, his father had surprised him by picking him up from football practice. Jim hadn't seen him in over a week; his father was the DA and he was summoned for a complicated case in Chicago, something about a drug cartel, though Jim wasn't sure as his dad didn't like to discuss his job at home.

 

“How about we go to Josie's? Get a nice burger and a shake?” his dad said when Jim got in the car.

 

“Yes! I'm starving!”

 

Jim felt proud that it was only the two of them going out ‒ it gave him the feeling that he was considered an adult, someone who deserved attention.

 

They never made it to Josie's.

 

Jim didn't remember what they were talking about, just that his father made a joke and they were both laughing when suddenly the headlights of a car shone right in his eyes, his words stuck in his throat. The car hit them on his father's side, effectively smashing him, while his body protected Jim's.

 

That was his dad, always protecting others and putting their safety first, even in the most dire of situations.

 

Jim rubbed his eyes, then contemplated the ceiling. Maybe he did lean on faith too often, but he needed it. Some people painted or performed some kind of sport; well, he had chosen religion. As long as he didn't harm anyone, it shouldn’t matter.

 

Jim got up, went to his desk and started writing a sermon about the power of faith. He had always been told that he was stubborn.

 

* * *

 

Father James was wary in the next couple of days, looking out for strangers or people from his old life. He had moved to Gotham after his mother's passing, and he had never told anyone about his backstory. 

 

He lived the life of a hermit. His whole world extended to the church, the small annex where he lived, and the garden behind it. He seldom ventured out into the city, only to visit sick congregation members, grocery shopping or to the nearby library. He knew everyone in the area, and everyone knew him, but only on the surface. No one wanted to truly be friends with a priest, someone who would judge their every word and action.

 

That was why Father James reckoned that maybe someone from his hometown came here to taunt him, but who would be capable of that and what would they gain with it? He had nothing to hide, so no one could actually blackmail him.

 

And yet, he watched with suspicion everyone whom he didn't recognise: the new, perhaps over friendly postman, the teenage cashier in the grocery shop, and even a father pushing a double pram with twin baby girls who waved at him. He was becoming paranoid.

 

A week passed and Father James forgot about the mysterious visitor. He didn't look at every stranger suspiciously anymore.

 

After finishing his duties for the day, Father James went to the library, greeting old Mrs. Banks at the checkout till. 

 

Books were his other method of escape, pleasant and easy, dear old friends and the only company he had on some days. Although the library was relatively small, Jim always managed to find something interesting. He was looking at the fiction shelves, touching the spine of books, reading some of the blurbs, but none had called out to him yet.

 

Suddenly, Jim became aware of some movement on the other side of the shelf. It sounded as if someone was arranging books, but Mrs. Banks was still at her desk. Jim peered curiously through the space above the old tomes. All he could see was a strip of a young man's face, his eyes downcast, probably reading something.

 

Jim kept watching him, somehow unable to tear his gaze away from the dark hair framing greenish blue eyes. The man looked up straight at Jim, making him blush instantly.

 

His breath was really knocked out when he saw the corners of those beautiful eyes crinkle. Although Father James couldn't see his mouth, he knew the man was smiling, his eyes lit by an impish spark.

 

Jim looked away for a moment and then the man disappeared. Trying to be discreet, Jim leaned in, nose touching the book in front of him as he looked through the gap between the shelves. He thought he could see movement at the other end. He stealthily moved to the end of the bookcase, watching as the man placed two novels on the shelf from a cart. 

 

Huh. He must have been a new librarian. He did look the type, with his slightly old-fashioned but elegant clothes. Father James swallowed, berating himself for staring, but then the man moved on. Suddenly, a book fell off from the pile, but he pushed the cart on, not having noticed. Jim hurried and picked up the novel, heart beating as he thought of suddenly getting really close to the librarian and looking into his eyes.

 

However, when he looked up, there was no sign of the man. Father James looked between every shelf, but it was as if the librarian had simply vanished into thin air. He stood there, glancing at the empty tables and seats, then walked up to the checkout till.

 

“Hello, Mrs. Banks. How are you?”

 

“I’m fine, Father James. Would you like to check out that book?”

 

“Actually, I wanted to give this back to uh… I think he’s a new librarian here?”

 

“New librarian? What do you mean?”

 

“I just saw him. About my height, black hair, beau- uh, bluish eyes.”

 

Mrs. Banks narrowed her eyes. “I’ve never seen anyone fitting that description. Certainly no other librarian here besides myself. Sadly, this place doesn’t get many visitors.”

 

Jim scowled, looking in the direction he last saw the man.

 

Mrs. Banks cleared her throat. “So, would you like to borrow that book?”

 

Jim looked at the pale gold decorations on the old book, title completely faded. Well, he didn’t get to pick anything else anyway. “Yes, please.”

 

Father James started reading the novel that same evening, which turned out to be  _ The Counterfeiters _ by Andre Gide. The novel followed the stories of two teenage boys, and it turned out to be so captivating that he stayed up well into the night. 

 

* * *

 

The next day, Father James went to church with less enthusiasm, not because he didn't like his work, but because the book started becoming even more intriguing.  _ Too _ intriguing actually, since he scoffed to himself when he saw a person in the church, who was probably there to confess.

 

Fortunately, it didn't take long, and he was slightly embarrassed and shocked by his voraciousness. It really wasn't the type of novel that would be approved by the Church, given the overt homoeroticism of most characters. 

 

Jim's skin was covered in goosebumps, the illicit and inappropriate nature of the work dawning on him. There he was, reading a debauched homoerotic book in God's house. Not that Father James actually condemned homosexuality or that he believed God did, but still his cheeks became flushed.

 

“It's a pretty good book, isn't it?” someone whispered, right next to his ear, making Father James flinch. He had never noticed anyone entering the confessional.

 

“I'm so glad you like it, I hoped I didn't miss... the mark,” the person said, laughing.

 

Jim knew this voice and laughter: it was the mysterious stranger from before, back to taunt him some more.

 

“You again! Who are you?”

 

“I have many names, but you can call me Oswald.”

 

Father James furrowed his brows; he didn’t know anyone by that name. “What do you want… Oswald?”

 

“Whatever people come to confession for? To talk, James. Unburden my soul. If I even have one.”

 

“Everyone has,” Jim replied.

 

“Debatable, but I didn't come for philosophical discussions.”

 

“How do you know those things about my father?”

 

“I know a lot of things. Not only about you, Father James, but everyone. Who you like, who you hate, your dreams and regrets…”

 

Jim drew his shoulders in, a chill settling deep in his bones. This was ridiculous, but given their previous meeting, he had no reason not to believe this person.

 

“Alright, let's say I believe you… why are you here talking to me? I'm not important.”

 

Oswald scoffed. “On the contrary, Father James. You are  _ very _ important, even if your boss hasn't realised that.”

 

“My boss?” James frowned. “You mean God?”

 

Jim could see the man's lips form a smile. “That's right. Don't take it personally, though, he's kind of old and obnoxious.”

 

Jim rubbed his eyes. “You still haven't told me what you want from me.”

 

“To convince you to join my side, of course. To show you that religion cannot give you what you really want.”

 

“No beating around the bush,” Jim said, his back rigid against the hard wood of the confessional. “I took a vow, I'm not going to break it.”

 

“No offence, but it's a really outdated vow. Everyone knows it. You can still keep the good aspects of religion, in fact I encourage you too, and get rid of the… silly stuff.”

 

Father James pursed his lips. “What exactly do you classify as silly stuff?”

 

“I thought the book would be a hint.” The man sounded almost sad, and Father James hated that it made him feel guilty. “Liberation. Getting rid of the shackles. You can only be happy by being yourself.”

 

“As you said, it's a book. Fiction. Besides, who told you that I’m not happy?”

 

“James.  _ Please _ . One doesn't need an engineering degree to see the depth of your unhappiness in your eyes. You deserve to get that sparkle back.”

 

“Nonsense. And I didn't lose any kind of sparkle.”

 

The man shook his head. “I told you I know things. You have, or used to have, a wonderful sense of curiosity. You wanted to know everything, to discover things and to learn every secret. Where is that man, Father James?”

 

“He's grown up. Adults have other preoccupations than discovering the world.”

 

“I'm not sure where you got the idea from, but it's not true. See what I've been trying to tell you? About religion suppressing you?”

 

“So what, you came to me because I'd be an easy target? Someone who would turn after one discussion?” Jim asked, offended.

 

There was a light snicker. “Quite the opposite, Father James. I don't do easy targets. The King of Hell likes a good challenge.”

 

Jim opened his mouth, the blood in his veins turning to ice.  _ King of Hell?! _

 

“It was good talking to you, Father. See you soon.”

 

“Wait!” However, by the time Father James came out of the confessional, the other door stood ajar, its occupant gone yet again.

 

Jim hurried to the heavy doors of the church, opening one with some effort. The cold wind rushed inside, and Father James crossed his arms as he looked around. The streets were desolate and quiet, as before a storm.

 

His eyes fell on a figure standing under an old oak tree in the distance, leaning against a black umbrella. Jim’s eyes widened as he realised that the mysterious stranger was the same person as the handsome librarian who had dropped the book.

 

As Father James stood struck in the church door, he couldn't help but remember a discussion he'd had with his father many years ago.

 

Jim had always been inquisitive, even as a child. He would terrorise his parents with questions about anything and everything, testing their patience. One Sunday afternoon when he was six, as his family was walking home from mass, Jim kept ruminating the words of the priest. He kept mentioning the devil, how he is always there to tempt everyone, but that Christians need to resist and pray until the devil goes away.

 

“Dad, what does the devil look like?” Jim asked, kicking a pebble in his way.

 

His father laughed quietly. “Oh, Jimmy. The devil is not a person like you or me.”

 

Little Jim frowned. “But Father Jonathan said we have to look out for him. So how will I do that if I don't know how he looks like?”

 

Jim's dad crouched in front of him. “The devil does not walk among us. And you know why? Because he is in each one of us. That's why it's so hard to fight him.”

 

Little Jim nodded seriously, committing his father's words to memory.

 

Adult Jim pressed his lips together, shivering with cold, and wished he could tell his dad that he had been wrong all those years ago.

 

The devil was walking among men and he had just winked at Jim before disappearing into the fog.

 

* * *

 

Although after their meeting he set aside the book Oswald had given him, Father James’ curiosity didn't give him peace. Just because he read and  _ enjoyed _ a book recommended by the devil, it didn't mean that he would join the other side.

 

Nevertheless, it did make him wonder whether he was unhappy. He had a nice vocation and a comfortable life, he knew lovely people and he liked to believe that he was helping them. Jim knew that sometimes even just a simple smile meant the world to someone.

 

Of course his ‘job’ imposed certain restrictions upon his personal life. Father James had to admit that he would have liked to have a partner, a wife or a husband. He blushed at the later thought, but he’d never really cared about gender. In his mind, he just saw the love and a warm smile, but never a peculiar face. It didn’t matter, though: abstinence was required, so that priests would dedicate their life to God.

 

The other restrictions didn't affect him much, but the ever looming threat of loneliness seemed unbearable sometimes. Jim always reckoned that he had gotten used to it throughout his life. He let out a weary sigh before leaving his house.

 

Father James volunteered at the local orphanage every week, if his time permitted. The children were nice and liked to have a new face around, often tricking him into playing instead of teaching them Bible stories like the Church expected. Jim didn’t mind in the least.

 

As he approached the imposing building with the old brick fence and heard the joyous laughter, Father James smiled. This part of his job, the couple of hours he spent with the kids, definitely made him happy.

 

He barely opened the gates when some keen-eyed children spotted him.

 

“Father James, Father James!” All the children gathered around him, trying to hug him at the same time.

 

Jim laughed and crouched, receiving their affection with gratitude. They clung to him even as he herded them in their classroom for a short lesson. 

 

That day he told them the story of Noah's ark, or rather tried to, as some children were bored or familiar already with the story and didn't pay attention. David was talkative usually, but that day he was downright mean. He kept interrupting Father James by making animal sounds, other children joining in. 

 

“Class, be silent!” Jim tried to talk over the noise, but the chaos seemed all-encompassing. He didn't yell or lose his temper usually, but they were seriously testing his patience that day, even though they were sweet children. 

 

Even the good students started exchanging notes, or chanting the impromptu zoo ‘song’ the others were singing. Jim rubbed his face tiredly.

 

“Let's go outside!” Selina, one of the mischievous girls suggested, already rising from her chair.

 

“Please, Father James!”

 

“We promise we'll be good, Father James,” Bruce, Selina's best friend said. He was a calm, nice boy, but today even he seemed impatient to go out and play.

 

“Alright, alright. I guess it would be a sin not to go out in this weather.”

 

The kids ran ahead, Jim sighing as he gathered his things. Some days you just couldn't work with them, as if something had gotten into them.

 

“A sin indeed,” said a now familiar voice, and when Jim looked to his right, Oswald ‒  _ the devil _ , he corrected himself ‒ was there, inspecting the clear sky.

 

“I don't appreciate you sneaking up on me,” Father James said coolly,  walking towards the garden with hurried steps. “What are you doing here anyway?”

 

“Helping you, of course,” Oswald said, limping behind him.

 

“I don’t need your help.”

 

Oswald snickered knowingly. “It didn't look like that in the classroom.”

 

Jim didn't ask him how Oswald knew ‒ it seemed that there were no secrets for him. He decided to ignore the man, and just focus on the children. 

 

“Don't run too far away!” he warned them, but they didn't listen, laughing and shouting as the fastest of them had already reached the fence and started climbing it.

 

“Get down! Selina! Stop!” Father James ran as fast as he could, panic rising in him when he noticed youngsters imitating their older peers.

 

Some of the kids listened to him, while others, like Bruce, were keeping an eye on them, trying to convince them to get down. Jim saw, however, that little Ivy had escaped everyone's attention, climbing ever higher.

 

“Ivy! Stop!”

 

The five-year-old girl looked back, but didn't listen to Jim. He was almost there, still a few metres away, when Ivy's left foot slipped on the bricks. Jim's breathing hitched, fear turning his blood into ice, but before anything could happen, Oswald appeared out of nowhere and caught her in his arms.

 

“Are you okay?” Jim asked, looking her over for injuries, but it seemed that a good scare was the only thing she'd acquired, her arms tightly wound around Oswald's neck. The man caressed her hair, smiling at Jim.

 

“She's fine as rain,” Oswald declared, hoisting Ivy up. “Right, pumpkin?”

 

Ivy giggled at the nickname, hiding her face in Oswald's neck. Father James stood there, disbelief clearly written on his face, as he looked at them.

 

“Go on now, play with the others,” Oswald said as he put Ivy down, watching the children with a fond smile.

 

“She's sweet, isn't she?” the devil said as he turned to Jim. “Very mischievous, though. You need to keep an eye on her.”

 

“Thank you… for catching her.”

 

Oswald laughed. “You should see your face, James. What, you think because of who I am, I wouldn't have saved her?”

 

“Well…”

 

“I don't blame you, the Bible doesn't paint me in the best light. I do like children, they are so curious and full of life. Besides, Ivy didn’t deserve to break a limb.”

 

Jim was still shaken, crossing his arms as he looked at Ivy, Selina giving her a piggyback ride and laughing.

 

“Look, I am not evil incarnate, Father James. That's just religious propaganda. Things aren't black and white, there are countless of shades in between. I was in opposition to God one day, didn’t bow down and just suddenly found myself cast out of Eden. The old man doesn’t like his authority to be questioned.”

 

Jim kept his head bowed as they walked slowly, willing himself not to let anything touch the walls around his belief. But Oswald had saved Ivy, and so Jim thought he owed him at least the courtesy to listen to him. Convinced that Oswald would go on and prattle about how he was wrongly dispelled to hell, Father James was surprised by the opportunity offered by him.

 

“Alright, I don’t usually do this, but to show you that I have no malevolent intentions, you can ask me anything and I’ll answer truthfully, whatever it is.”

 

“But-”

 

“One question, James. You can gain knowledge that no other mortal would ever have access to.”

 

Father James narrowed his eyes, focusing on the blades of grass being flattened under their soles, the sound of his companion’s uneven steps. Despite Oswald making it out to be a generous offer, the priest stayed cautious. Mulling it over, trying to gain some time, he pointed Oswald towards a nearby bench. He didn’t miss Oswald’s surprised smile.

 

Jim looked around as they sat down, waited a few minutes to let the crisp autumn air calm his mind as he chose the question. He knew many people would have scrambled to ask about God or death, or other similar mysteries.

 

“What caused your limp?”

 

His voice wavered, as he was in fact quite scared, but it sounded clear. He met Oswald’s eyes unflinchingly, expecting the worst, only to be surprised by Oswald’s laughter, loud and high-pitched, as if it had escaped his chest involuntarily.

 

“Really, James? You have the chance to ask the devil anything, and your question is why he's limping?” Oswald shook his head, a confused but amiable look on his face. “You surprise me.”

 

Jim felt uneasy under the scrutiny, averting his eyes. Why couldn’t he have picked something else? Or just ignored the offer?

 

“I meant it as praise, James. Funnily enough, very few know the answer to the question.” There was a pause, Oswald leaning against the bench. “Well, everyone thinks it’s because of the Fall, which does seem like the most logical assumption. But in fact it happened before it.”

 

Father James almost stopped him, as he knew he wasn’t supposed to hear this story. He averted his eyes, watching yellow and orange leaves carried by the wind.

 

“As I told you, I became the enemy. Asked too many questions and things like that, I won’t bore you with them. So I had to be punished, made into an example. You’d think casting me out of Heaven would be enough.” Oswald smiled, but it was a bitter smile, making Jim’s stomach clench painfully.

 

“My wings were torn, so that I could never return as an angel. My right knee was shattered, so that I would be repulsive to humans, should I decide to join them.”

 

Oswald’s face was expressionless, his gaze fixed on something ahead.

 

“Did… did God do this to you?”

 

Turning slowly towards Jim, Oswald put on his mask with the impish smile. “Oh no, he doesn’t get his hands dirty. It was his right hand, Michael. Once a brute, always a brute.”

 

There was a dramatic sigh and Oswald pretended as if it were an old story that’d happened a long time ago, something almost forgotten, but Jim could sense the hurt in his rigid posture and inflexion of his voice. “Oswald, I’m-”

 

But Oswald got up, buttoning his suit jacket, not letting Jim finish his sentence. “Alright, Jim, you extenuated your one question. Before I go, however, I want to tell you something. The God you worship is not merciful and good. Otherwise why would have he allowed the murder of your father?”

 

“ _ Murder _ ? What are you talking about, it was an accident.”

 

“Cleverly disguised as one. Your father was murdered, James. The other driver was paid to hit your car. Why do you think all those documents from the investigation have disappeared?”

 

“You're lying!”

 

“I wouldn't, not to you. I promise.”

 

Oswald was looking at him, his expression open, bared. He was always quite intense in his meetings with Jim, his gaze burning into the priest's soul.

 

Jim remained seated on the bench, hands gripping the wood, until its grain imprinted on his palms. By the time he looked up, Oswald was gone, vanished into thin air as he always did.

  
  


* * *

 

Jim was not sure how he got home. His legs must have carried him automatically while his mind was completely elsewhere, in a different time.

 

Even now knowing that Oswald was a supernatural being, Father James had trouble believing his knowledge, some of the things being so obscure or so hidden that no one else could have known.

 

It had been a long time, but once Jim had tried to look into the case, trying to see whether he could find an explanation for his father's sudden death. His teenage mind rebelled, and he wanted,  _ needed _ , to find a reason, to know that his father's death was not in vain.

 

But the files disappeared. Police claimed they must have gotten damaged in a fire that had affected the archives, but Jim never believed them. He could just never fight against them, never had the skills or tools, and so at the insistence of his mother and pastor, he gave up. Resigned to the fact that his father was killed by a drunk driver and that was it. He would never see him again, killed in a second because of someone’s stupidity. 

 

So now, getting the confirmation that his father had indeed been murdered, was like being struck again with the pain of loss, somehow worsened and more intensive. It was a slap to the face, a betrayal by the Police, justice system and G-

 

No. No, no, no.

 

This had nothing to do with Him. It was the malice and ignorance of humans alone.

 

Father James tried to get some rest at night, but he tossed and turned in his sleep. He saw his dad smiling at him over his shoulder, turning on the radio as they seemed to go on a road trip. Of course, the dream turned into a nightmare soon, the impact of the hitting car jolting him awake. 

 

Jim took great gulps of air, massaging his chest which ached badly, as if a scream had been trapped inside. It was a recurring nightmare, though since he hadn't had it in a long time, it rattled him more than usual, his heart beating fast. 

 

According to the clock on his nightstand, it wasn't even five, but Jim knew he'd be unable to go back to sleep. He got up and put on a hoodie, his small room chilly in the darkness of dawn. Jim went to the kitchen and washed the dishes while his mind pondered on his nightmare and Oswald's words. Maybe he lied, despite his promise. After all, he was the devil. But a talk with him wouldn't hurt.

 

Jim couldn't wait until their next ‘accidental’ meeting. He had to know now. He didn’t know whether his idea would work, but he had to try. 

 

It felt strange when he spoke out loud. “Oswald, if you can hear me, I'd like to talk to you. Whenever you have time.”

 

Although Jim had summoned Oswald, he was still shocked when a knock came on his door. In spite of the early hour, Oswald looked impeccable in his pinstripe suit and perfectly styled hair. The devil never sleeps, wasn’t that a common saying? 

 

Oswald smiled at Jim, but his eyes were searching his face, no doubt taking in the priest's tired expression.

 

“That was quick. Thanks for coming.”

 

“Anything for an old friend.”

 

Jim was too exhausted to tell Oswald that they weren't friends, so he just led him to the kitchen. It was small and old, like the rest of the house, but warmer and more cosy.

 

“Coffee?” Jim asked, though he wasn't sure whether supernatural beings like Oswald consumed food or beverages.

 

“Do you have tea by any chance?”

 

“No, sorry.”

 

“That's alright, coffee’s fine.”

 

Jim stood with his back to Oswald, though he could feel the man's gaze. He was biding his time, thinking how to make Oswald reveal all he knew about his dad's death.

 

He put a cup in front of Oswald, the hot liquid sloshing a bit over the edge. Jim sat down opposite Oswald, pouring milk and sugar in his cup, not daring to look up.

 

“I guess you know why I called you.”

 

“Your father's murder.”

 

He nodded. “I know you'll ask for something in return, and it will probably be terrible.”

 

Oswald leaned against the wall, his face closed off. “Then why did you call me?”

 

“You're the only one who can tell me the truth. Well, the only willing one,” Jim said, tapping his fingers against the table. “I wouldn't even know where to look.”

 

“Believe me, it would be too dangerous anyway.”

 

Jim grimaced. He wasn't surprised, his dad had put away a lot of criminals. “Makes sense… so what do you want in exchange?”

 

“Let me think…” Oswald grinned at Jim's panicked expression. “Relax, James. I'm only asking for a kiss.”

 

Jim looked up sharply, meeting Oswald's bright eyes. “A kiss?”

 

Oswald raised his eyebrows. “A small price to pay.”

 

In truth, Father James was suspicious. He'd expected something more… lowly. Maybe something humiliating or illegal. A kiss seemed too easy. Even regarding his position, it was acceptable: not exactly allowed, but not prohibited either.

 

“Okay, I accept.”

 

Oswald smiled at him. “Good choice. Maybe you'll even like it.”

 

Jim scoffed, hoping his blush would be interpreted as irritation. “You wish. Please tell me what you know.”

 

Oswald wasn't discouraged. “You know that given your father's job, he had a lot of enemies. He was a very good DA and sent a lot of criminals to prison. Well, one of them was the brother of a drug cartel's boss. The second in command. They couldn't pinpoint anything on the boss, but there was enough evidence to convict his younger brother.

 

“Your father always received an alarming amount of death threats, so he ignored the ones sent by the cartel.”

 

“Mom never told me anything like that.”

 

“Your father didn't want her to worry. He had to be hospitalised once after some thugs beat him up.”

 

“What?” Jim frowned. “Why has no one ever told me about this?”

 

“You were young, barely eight years old. It's not something a child should know.”

 

“Yes, but…”

 

Jim felt blindsided. He understood why his mom had never talked about this, but it was upsetting. It was as if he were a child again, oblivious to the issues plaguing his parents, his biggest concern being which toy he was going to play with.

 

“So I guess the drug cartel are responsible for my father's death?”

 

“Yes. The drunk driver that hit your car ‒ well, he owed a lot of money to them, so in order to save his family, he did this heinous act.”

 

Jim flinched, not very visibly, but he was sure Oswald noticed. He shook his head. The driver killed his dad and himself, so that the mob wouldn't murder his family. Father James clenched his fists under the table, his body shaking. Oswald might have been the devil himself, but some humans could have easily surpassed him with their depravity.

 

“How can anyone be such a monster?” Jim whispered, turning away towards the window. The sky was getting brighter, but it was still colourless with the promise of another bleak autumn day.

 

“If I learned anything in all these millennia, it's that greed makes people do the ugliest things,” Oswald offered. “Money and power. The drug cartel feared that they'd lose both if that member went to prison, and they would all fall like domino pieces.”

 

Jim watched Oswald, the man's face expressionless, as if explaining the dullest thing in the world. Previously, Jim would have assumed that any bad deed would make Oswald rejoice, but it seemed that even he despised these acts.

 

Oswald got up, placing his empty cup in the sink. “It's time for me to go,” he said, and an inexplicable void appeared in Jim's chest, sucking in every emotion except for panic. He didn't want to be alone.  _ He didn't want Oswald to leave. _

 

He rose from his chair, rubbing his sweaty palms against his trousers. Despite his previous words, Oswald didn't move towards the door; in fact, he had taken a couple of steps back, leaning against the white sill of the window. They both sensed the elephant in the room, but Oswald didn't say anything. It was Jim's turn to speak, the devil had honoured his part of the deal.

 

“How… did you want to uh… now?”

 

“Want what, James?”

 

Based on Oswald's amused expression, he knew exactly what the priest was hinting at, but let him stew in his own timidity.

 

“Kiss. Do you want to do it now?”

 

Oswald smiled, a bit too widely. “Oh, sure. So I have a good day.”

 

Jim snorted, shaking his head slightly. Ridiculous. Oswald could be so outlandish, but somehow the spark in his eyes confirmed that he really believed that, and so a shiver ran through Jim as he stepped forward. He was suddenly nervous, half expected to be singed by Oswald's touch.

 

No doubt sensing his apprehension, Oswald laid a hand on Jim's chest. His touch was hot even through the shirt, but not burst-into-flames-in-a-second hot. His heart's mad thumping stayed the same as Jim leaned in and Oswald closed the distance, their lips meeting in a soft kiss.

 

It was not his first, having had some flings in high school, but it was nothing like he expected. Father James didn't burst into flames, or not literally anyway. But on the inside, it was as if a match was striked and the flame grew, and somehow Jim opened up to Oswald's tongue. The hand that Oswald had laid on Jim’s chest was now in the priest's hair, petting the smooth, dark blond strands and Jim found himself taking a half step forward, getting closer, attracted helplessly, like a moth to a flame.

 

His whole being was reconstructed, particle by particle, but in the right order this time, the missing or broken pieces replaced by something alien, but good and shining, something that must have come from Oswald. Jim wanted more, wanted to fill the void in his hearts with this molten substance, with the feel of Oswald's lips pressing against his.

 

But then it was gone; Oswald broke the kiss and Jim was left trailing after him. He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was the break of dawn through the window, the grey sky from before suddenly rippling with colour and life, as if a painter had knocked over a jar of watercolours and they now flowed freely on the canvas of the sky. 

 

His chest heaving, Jim looked down at Oswald, who was inundated in nuances of bright red, and only then noticed that he'd put his arms around him at some point. Although kisses were not immoral or sinful in themselves, Father James felt that this one might be classified as such, and he turned red instantly. He dropped his arms, but didn't step away. He couldn't.  _ Didn't want to _ .

 

Oswald cocked his head to the right, contemplating him. His hand smoothed Jim's hair, then slid to his cheek. “Go back to bed, Jim. You need to rest.”

 

Jim nodded, mesmerised, and felt keenly the disappearance of Oswald. He realised how exhausted and wrung out he was, and went back to bed, this time falling asleep easily.

 

* * *

 

Father James was preoccupied in the next days. He prayed on the cold stone floor of the church, eyes focused on the painted crucifix in the middle of the altar, until the late autumn chill seeped into him, invading his whole body. He barely noticed, though.

 

He prayed for his father's soul, and for the driver's and his whole family. He hoped they would find peace, because no doubt they too were tormented by the past. Although difficult at first, he asked God for the driver's forgiveness, this time truly sincerely, not like before when he did it out of Christian duty. Now, thanks to Oswald, he knew the truth and all he felt was pity.

 

As for the drug cartel members, he didn’t ask for their forgiveness. They didn't deserve it, even if the Bible said that Christ had died for everyone's sins. Father James refused to believe that such despicable men  _ should  _ be saved. 

 

He tried not to think about it, but sometimes all the thoughts and anger he'd been repressing for almost twenty years came back. The anger was like a snake, coiling deep inside him, restricting his ability to breathe and think, its venom going deep inside his skin, filling up his cells until he thought that was all that was left of him.

 

He tried to ignore this beast, but sometimes it would just wake up inside him while he was performing his usual duties, and his hands would clench into fists and his sight would become blurry, the best roaring and thrashing inside him.

 

Prayer and meditation helped somewhat. Jim only wished he could talk to his mom, ask if she knew anything. Sometimes he thought she did, because she told him after his fruitless investigations that he should let it go and live his life. But then he remembered how depressed she was after the accident, looking lost \as if she were only a husk, the shadow of a person.

 

Perhaps the most troubling thoughts were the ones about Oswald himself, however. He hadn't shown up since their early morning meeting, but Jim couldn't help thinking about him and the kiss they'd shared. What an extraordinary kiss it was. Jim didn't know if it was because Oswald had powers, or because they… worked well together.

 

Jim wanted to slap himself for even considering such thoughts. Yet they slipped into his mind so easily and were so much more pleasant than anything else that could dwell in there. He imagined and reimagined the touch of their lips, made it go on forever and ever, and whenever he got to the part where the tip of Oswald's tongue touched his, Jim shuddered and put an end to the fantasy there, fearing where it would lead. 

 

Nowhere good, for sure.

 

So Father James did what he'd always done when he encountered a problem: flung himself into religion. He prayed harder, and imposed a very tight schedule onto himself, so his mind would not wander. It was difficult on the first days, the memory of Oswald's smile popping up whenever he wasn't cautious and didn't guard his thoughts properly. 

 

However, he couldn't rest during the night either. He didn't remember his dreams, but often he had the feeling that someone was watching him. A few times he even heard his name being whispered.

 

_ “James. James.” _

 

There was no doubt that it was Oswald's voice, and at first, when Jim woke up panting, he expected the devil to be there, grinning at him, but the room was empty. He even looked out the window, to check if maybe Oswald was lurking outside, but he found everything in order, the small garden behind his house basked in silence and silver moonlight.

 

Father James believed his mind was fighting back against his self-imposed rules. Drug rehabilitation worked the same way, the drawbacks would be ever stronger in the first days as he tried to get rid of all the evil inside him. He even started a strict diet, akin to those of monks, in order to physically cleanse himself. Water and bread, that was all he allowed himself, even though his body was asking for more.

 

The stronger he heard the voice at night, the harder he pushed himself. He was so convinced that he needed to pay for his sins, that he was rotten inside, that he’d never even questioned whether the dreams were due to an external force.

 

And so a week went by, Father James working himself to exhaustion every day.

 

The beginning of the dream was so common that he thought only real life could be so banal. He was in his small office and he checked his collar in the mirror, before going inside the church. Father James knelt in front of the altar and did the sign of the crucifix, then went into the confessional. He had done this a thousand times.

 

He opened the partition, but the person on the other side didn't say anything. There were always hesitant people. “You can talk freely, no one will know your secrets.”

 

“Promise?”

 

Father James looked up, saw the familiar smile through the partition.

 

“Promise.”

 

“May I come to your side, James?”

 

“Yes,” he whispered, opening his door with equal amounts of apprehension and excitement.

 

He looked around, but the church was empty, only the wind whistling under the heavy front door. Oswald stopped in front of Father James, making the priest swallow as he looked up into those beautiful eyes.

 

“I missed you.”

 

Jim couldn’t say anything, just reached for Oswald’s hand. It came naturally that Oswald sat on Jim’s lap, placing his arms around his neck. The distance between their lips was insignificant, but Jim chose to close it. It felt so real, the softness, the texture, the sensations, that a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob escaped his chest. His hands were rubbing Oswald’s thighs, the material of his trousers soft under his palms. 

 

God, he’d missed Oswald too.

 

He didn’t say it out loud, but it seemed as if Oswald understood him, his eyes burning with recognition. He kissed Jim one more time than started to pull away. Fear rose fast and high in Jim, he forgot to breathe.

 

“Don’t leave, please.”

 

Oswald smiled and he didn’t break eye contact as he knelt in front of Jim.

 

“Forgive me, Father…”

 

“What-what are you doing, Oswald?” Father James aked while Oswald lifted his robe and suddenly his trouser was undone.

 

_ “... for I'm about to sin.” _

 

Father James watched breathlessly as Oswald slowly caressed his thighs, his hands gentle and leaving behind a trail of want. As they got closer and closer to his groin, Jim let out a surprised sound, placing his hand on the man's face. “No, Oswald, we can't… “

 

“Why not?” The devil asked and he leaned into Jim's touch, a wave of warm affection crashing against Jim's chest when Oswald looked at him, gaze scorching.

 

“It's wrong… we can't. Shouldn't… not here.”

 

Oswald smiled. “Not here?”

 

Jim looked away. It was wrong, it was sinful, it was a blasphemy.

 

Suddenly, Oswald put his hand over Jim's. “It's alright,  _ no one _ can see us here.”

 

Somehow Jim knew that meant that not even God could see them. Even so, Jim knew he was supposed to stop Oswald, but his fascination conquered his sense of wrongness. To see himself the object of desire, of such a strong one especially, overwhelmed him, and everything was overwritten in his mind.

 

He gave in.

 

Oswald was at once gentle and ardent, and Jim threw his head back the moment Oswald’s fingers encircled him. It was a different kind of pleasure than the rare occasion he touched himself, or maybe time itself became different, more elastic, ever expanding. He felt confined in the small confessional, in his own skin even. 

 

“Look at me, James.”

 

Despite being overwhelmed, Jim tried to keep his eyes open, mouth agape as he watched Oswald move his hand up and down, Jim moaning when Oswald's thumb circled the head of his cock. He cupped Oswald’s cheek, reveling in the smoothness.

 

Oswald smiled at him sweetly, which then turned into a grin. He leaned in, glancing at Jim wickedly. He took the priest's cock into his mouth, startling out a yelp from Jim which reverberated between the walls of the church.

 

Even without Oswald's look, Jim knew how sinful it sounded, his moans breaking the sanctity of the building. Oh, the saints and the angels in the pictures had to be hiding their faces in shame. It must have looked just as depraved; from the front door one could only see Oswald's shoes and legs, but if they thought about approaching the confessional, the filthy imagine of Oswald bobbing his head between Father James’ legs would have revealed itself, with no chance to hide.

 

They should have stopped then, but instead Jim moved his hand to Oswald's hair, petting it. He was rewarded with a pleased hum, so he kept doing it, growing bolder and touching Oswald with more intent, knowing he wouldn't last long. Something was about to implode inside himself, the time running out, and he couldn’t stop it.

 

Oswald let go of Jim's cock with a resounding pop, making a show of licking the tip, swirling his tongue around it, relishing every moment. Jim was going mad, he tried bucking into Oswald's warm mouth, fingernails scraping the walls of the confessional. His head filled with the sound of Oswald’s wicked laughter.

 

“Am I absolved of my sins, Father James?”

 

Jim's hold tightened in Oswald's hair. He could barely think, his whole being concentrated on chasing his pleasure which was deliberately delayed now. Oswald was deceptively strong, pinning Jim so he couldn’t move.

 

“Please, Oswald…”

 

“Come for me and absolve me, James.”

 

With that, Oswald took Jim back in his mouth, the priest moaning. One of his hands was still in Oswald’s hair, the other gripping the wall of the confessional as he felt his orgasm explode and wash over him, Oswald swallowing it all as Jim came hot in his mouth.

 

Father James woke with a start, heart pounding in his ears, mind still reeling with pleasure, his synapses overloaded. It took him a while to realise that it was just a dream, though the evidence of his soiled underwear spoke of its intensity.

 

Jim buried his head in his hands. 

 

There was no doubt left: he was doomed and Hell’s flames had already started licking at him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I guess this is my express ticket to Hell? :)) Anyway, part 2 shall come at some point.


End file.
